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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22986640">Graven red in human blood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier'>asuralucier</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nightcrawlers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Setting Except Vampires, Blood Soup - Freeform, Canon-Typical Everything, Dubious Consent, Hannibal be like I mean I already told you I was a cannibal; what else do you want from me?, M/M, Post series finale, Vampire!Hannibal, Vampire!Will, Y’all I wiki’d soup with blood as their main ingredient and my god there are a lot, finger licking good</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:48:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,227</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22986640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal makes a decision, and Will lives with its uh, unusual consequences.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nightcrawlers [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1663912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Writing Rainbow Red</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Graven red in human blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheeon/gifts">sheeon</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A million thanks to ictus for beta reading and smut and UST-picking (it's a thing now because I say so). Cheers, lovely x.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will’s teeth are chattering as he tries to speak. He pulls the mess of threadbare blankets around his shoulders, freshly aware of the strange coldness worming around in his body. He’s not a stranger to cold really, but this is different. </p><p>He tries to compare this particular sensation to other discomforts visited upon him recently. Like being attacked by Francis Dolarhyde. Like falling off a fucking cliff-face with Hannibal squeezing him tight around the ribs. Like learning too, that Hannibal is a cannibal, but that feels like a lifetime ago; as distant a thing as a man’s severed limb. Will looks down at his scratched-knuckled hands, setting them both flat on the cheap, plastic kitchen table. It’s a struggle to feel his legs, but he knocks his heel against one of the chair’s uneven legs and manages to get his muscles away from some of that deadly coldness. </p><p>What Hannibal’s hands didn’t manage to break, the fall should have done. And yet Will sits here (mostly) whole in a tiny kitchenette as an uncanny smell fills the room. It hides itself among the more familiar earthy notes left by onions and potatoes, but Will notices it all the same. </p><p>Finally, Will manages it, “Are you sure we’re not in hell?” </p><p>“Is this what you think hell looks like, Will?” Hannibal queries with an arch of his eyebrow. A sliver of sunlight illuminates his expression, penitently curious and wanting to be helpful. </p><p> Will looks towards the light, but then he flinches away. A pinprick of pain grows at the back of his eyes into a great blooming fire, and he shuts his eyes, bows his head. </p><p>“I don’t think anything of hell,” Will says. Then, just as suddenly: “What the fuck did you do to me?” </p><p>Will harnesses all the anger he can manage and channels it across the room, because anger has always been good to Will Graham. He has always understood it; it’s never led him too far wrong, and being angry at Hannibal? It’s practically a hobby.</p><p>Yet armed with all this familiarity, Will’s anger still disintegrates before it reaches Hannibal in any meaningful way. All the man has to do is <i>smile</i> and say, “As far as I’m concerned, Will, I saved your life.”</p><p>“So, not hell then.” </p><p>“No, not hell.” Hannibal nods. “A mere inconvenience. But if you don’t eat something, you’ll exsanguinate and I may not be able to save you again. I’m not looking to stay here terribly long, if you catch my meaning.”</p><p>Will doesn’t, really. But this isn’t too surprising, either.  </p><p>“I’ll what?” Will falls back into a sure thing. He falls back into pain. He bites down on his tongue and a strange sting cuts across its surface. Will doesn’t make a sound, but Hannibal is used to seeing him in a perpetual state of discomfort. He knows the signs. </p><p>“You’ll die again from blood loss,” Hannibal tells him. Finally, he abandons his post in front of the stove, but not before dipping a ladle into the steaming pot he had on the boil. After he tastes whatever is in there, possibly some sort of soup or a stew, Hannibal drops the ladle again. Then he strides over to where Will is sitting, hunched over and still shivering. Hannibal kneels, so that they’re eye-to-eye. </p><p>“Did you bite your tongue, Will?”</p><p>Will thinks of lying, decides that wouldn’t actually solve anything, and nods. </p><p>“You’ll have to be more careful about that from now on. Open, please. Let me see.” </p><p>Will does, and Hannibal reaches in to touch his tongue, no doubt feeling the fat flesh of it, thinking about how it would be on the grill. Then he runs his thumb over Will’s teeth. Will is suddenly newly aware of the bits of Hannibal that are flesh. Flesh to be seasoned, boiled, devoured, digested. Will finds that he suddenly <i>understands</i> Hannibal’s <i>raison d'etre</i>, and imagines—</p><p>“Do you feel that, Will?” </p><p>“Hm.” </p><p>Hannibal withdraws and Will closes his mouth, though he is no less aware of the strange sharpness of his teeth. </p><p>“I can see you wanting to hurt me,” Hannibal says, almost invitingly. “But as it stands, you’ll only hurt yourself.” There is a dark red prick on Hannibal’s thumb, where Will’s teeth have broken through skin, but Will doesn’t think it’s blood. It’s too dark, too thick, nearly gelatinous. </p><p>“What <i>is</i> that?” </p><p>“Blood,” Hannibal says, and touches the edge of Will’s mouth. “Or, a version of it, anyway. Would you like a taste?” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>Hannibal stands again and shrugs. “No matter. The soup is nearly ready. Have you ever had prdelačka?” </p><p>Will shakes his head. </p><p>“Prdelačka is a pork blood soup served in the Czech Republic, especially popular during the slaughter season so that nothing of the animal goes to waste.” Hannibal retreats towards the stove and begins to open nearby cupboards, one by one until he finds a large bowl and a spoon. He doesn’t seem to know the particulars of this kitchen.</p><p>Will asks, “Whose house is this?” </p><p>“The woman didn’t have identification,” Hannibal says. “At least when I looked. You’re welcome to look. She’s in the front room.” </p><p>Will gets as far as thinking about standing up, and then he gives up on it. It’s all he can do to clutch the blankets around him. “I can’t get up. I’m so cold.” </p><p>Hannibal puts a bowl of prdelačka down in front of him. The uncanny smell, growing stronger because it’s so close, is just about overwhelming. Will tries to pick up the spoon but it feels like a ton of lead in his weakening grip. Somehow, it’s suddenly the chunks of potato and onion that look unnatural rather than the prdelačka’s alarming bright red color and it makes Will want to vomit. But he’s so hungry, hungry from the cold. </p><p>“Pork blood soup…?” </p><p>“Perhaps not exactly pork,” Hannibal assents as he takes the spoon from Will and gives the concoction a good stir. Then he tries a sip and nods his approval. “Come. Have some. I’ve eaten.” </p><p>Will looks at him, not the least bit amused. “Of course you have.” </p><p>“I hide nothing from you, Will.” Hannibal spread his hands, as if to give the effect of being an open book. “I have told you about the woman in the front room. All things considered, you’ve accepted my other secrets. This is neither better, nor worse.” He moves behind Will and adjusts the blankets around his shoulders, runs a sly finger over Will’s muddy pulse near his jugular vein. Will can feel it growing slower each passing minute. </p><p>Finally, Will lifts the bowl full of steaming blood and begins to drink in large thirsty gulps, drops of red broth dripping down from his chin. </p><p>It’s only when he puts down the empty bowl that Hannibal moves to pat his mouth gently with a handkerchief, and Will can sense the fresh, intimate thrum of the prick on Hannibal’s thumb, as if the dark gelatinous liquid has wormed deep into his own veins. </p><p>Then, Will pushes away the handkerchief and reaches for Hannibal’s hand. </p><p>“—Will?” </p><p>“Maybe I do want a taste,” Will says. As he takes Hannibal’s fingers into his mouth, he’s mindful of his new teeth. He takes great care as he smears Hannibal’s fatty blood all over his own tongue, just ravenous for a taste.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27031522">Podfic: 'Graven red in human blood' by asuralucier</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasina/pseuds/peasina">peasina</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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